Control
by Sorrow Reminisce
Summary: While held captive by the Conclave, Max must do whatever it takes to win the freedom of her would-be rescuers. As both sides struggle to outplay each other and gain control, double-crossing abounds. Max and White must form a grudging truce if either hope to make it out alive, but will their desire for control destroy them both?
1. Chapter One

**_Synopsis_**_: __Submitted to weeks of isolation and brutality at the hands of the Conclave, Max is finally forced to play her one last card, to win the freedom of her would-be rescuers. As both sides struggle to outplay each other and gain control, double-crossing abounds. Max and White must form a grudging truce if either hope to make it out alive, but will their desire for control destroy them both?_

_Rated for suggestions of sex and violence._

**_Please note:_**_ **As of May 2013 I've converted this fic from present tense, to past tense.** _

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**CONTROL**

**by Sorrow**

**ll l lll ll l lll**

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"Give it up 452. You know you're no stronger than me."

Within the damp concrete cell half-plunged in darkness, transgenic and familiar eyed each other cautiously, each waiting for the other to make the next move. White circled Max like a shark considering its next meal, keeping the transgenic moving on the spot and taking small steps to keep him in sight.

Days had slid into weeks since her capture, and having spent countless hours searching this filthy cell for any weakness she could breech, Max knew there were none. There was only one way out of this place, and it was through Ames White. She understood that now.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew a deep breath filled with the stink of earth and mildew. It didn't matter what happened in here, she reminded herself, just as long as freedom could be obtained.

By any means necessary.

Eyes snapped open, dark with resolve. White had stopped moving and paused to consider her. Did he wonder what she was thinking? Or had he stopped to question his own actions and prerogatives?

Not bothering to ask, Max lunged forward, intending to drive the familiar to the ground. Instead her body ricocheted backwards as he delivered his counterstrike, his laughter cold as she brought a hand to her stinging face, tentatively feeling her jaw to reassure herself that it was still attached as it should be. It was.

Recovering fast, she darted forward to hook the familiar with an uppercut, dodging his next move, and delivering a spinning kick to the back of his head before springing away once more.

The kick failed to effect Ames White, and he lunged forward, catching the transgenic by the wrist as his fist slammed her again, smile cruel, as blood seeped from her mouth. To his surprise, the pain served to strengthen her this time, and snarling, she pulled away from his grasp and swung a fist into his jaw with enough force to send his head rocking backwards.

"You know, if the lonely nights are gettin' to you, perhaps you should've thought of that before murdering your wife?"

Growling at her quip, White stepped away and shoved the transgenic across the room as he kicked her feet out from beneath her. Caught off guard, her head smacked the smooth concrete with a sharp thud and she lay stunned. Fighting down a grimace of pain, Max rolled aside and regained her footing.

Stepping forward, White's lips turned up in a cruel smile and he chuckled at her efforts. "You're pathetic."

Once again, his foot lashed out, this time connecting solidly with Max's ribs, causing a sharp cry to escape her throat. Words deserted her as pain tore through her already-injured side. The Conclave did not favour well their captives, and having endured countless days without food and with very little water, the familiar's strength was wearing her down quicker than she cared to admit.

"Weak."

It was a single word, but it struck her sharp nonetheless. Taking a deep breath - one that caught half-way in her throat - Max threw her weight into the familiar and sent them both flying to the floor. White's recovery was instant and he rolled the transgenic onto her back, taking the advantage of surprise as he grabbed her arms and pinned her with his weight. "Weak and slow. But what can one expect from a cheap imitation? Guess you had to burn out sometime."

Max's instructions had been clear. She knew what to do. Bait him. Trap him. And thus free herself. But still revulsion gripped her as she pushed against him with a burst of energy, flipping him to his back until she straddled his hips, her fingers around his throat. Unperturbed, White laughed and grabbed her hips, using the change in position to his advantage as he held her in place and pulled her closer.

_It's a power trip for him_, Max realised, _to think he has me under his control - even when he's the one flat on his back with my weight against his windpipe._ Seething, she struggled to pull herself away, one hand pressed against his chest for leverage as she rammed a knee into his groin.

"See who's weak now." She muttered through gritted teeth, gloating at the wince which briefly crossed White's face. "Guess pain isn't always a phantom of the mind, huh?"

Then, swallowing down the disgust she felt for this man, she changed her tactic and slid one thigh up between his legs, like a slow stroke of apology.

"What the hell do you think you're doing 452?" The familiar's eyes flashed dangerously as she leant in to take his earlobe in her mouth, daring him to defy her as she skimmed her lips along his jaw. He pushed her aside but she shoved back against him with renewed force, needling him to respond, needing to coax her enemy to desire her; so she could win her freedom.

White jerked his head as her teeth grazed his lips. Pulling back, she caught the look of naked surprise in her enemy's eyes, then she leant in and captured his mouth with her own, the taste of his blood tipping the scales of self-loathing, as she flicked her tongue over his lips, nudging him to respond.

His lack of response - the fact that he hadn't flung her away or snapped her neck yet - was enough. Enough for her to push further against him; bite his lower lip and coax him to react as she shifted her body. White grabbed her wrists and forced her back.

"What game are you playing, 452?"

His tone was dangerous, but she could see something different in his eyes. Lust. She forced herself to hold his gaze, just as she forced desire into her voice, silky smooth as she whispered, "I'm in heat. It's my DNA. You don't think I've tried fighting this? I just - can't - fight it anymore."

Stunned, he lay impassive as she nuzzled her lips against his jawline, coaxing him to react as she shifted her body against him, the friction causing him to take a quick intake of breath despite himself. He knew he should shove her away, drive this filthy vermin away from him and beat her to a bloodied pulp, but his mind raced to recollect the Manticore files outlining a particular flaw in transgenic design. Heat. Once or twice a year, transgenic females entered a reproductive cycle like that of a cat.

As the journey of 452's lips roused his body to respond, White reasoned to himself that by allowing her to continue, the shame she'd feel once the heat cycle had passed would be another weapon he could use against her. For his own sadistic amusement, if nothing else.

Actions validated, he pulled her roughly to him, adjusting their position so he could tug away her clothing, his mouth hungrily tracing the hollow of her collarbone before moving over her breasts; eyes closed as if by doing so he could pretend he wasn't betraying his own kind – betraying his own self.

As his tongue darted over her skin, causing her body to shiver traitorously beneath his touch, Max licked her lips and tasted guilt and horror upon her tongue. She had him now. It was done. This was enough. Surely, this was enough. But he flipped her to her back, smothering her with his weight and with his urgency, and as she grasped him, pulling him closer to her, she realised she _wanted_ this. Fucked up as it was, she wanted _him_. Wanted to lose herself in this moment in a way she'd never allowed herself before. And in that moment, she understood it was too late now. For both of them.

_By any means necessary._ The words had become her mantra. Not to talk herself into undoing his belt and tugging his pants down, but to justify her own incorrigible part in this game.

The sex was hard and violent, and she had clawed her way through every moment of it – literally and figuratively – her body craving the physical contact, her mind compartmentalising it, to stop itself from shattering. Then when the shudders of the familiar's body had drawn to a halt, and the raw animalistic hunger had turned to sour bile in the pit of Max's stomach, she felt White stir inside her once again, his body already aroused and in want of a round two. But her back was slick with sweat and blood, and the various scratches and bruises inflicted upon her began to throb and sting; replacing the euphoria that had helped her to forget who they both were. Filling her with unfathomable shame and self-consciousness. The pain didn't wash the guilt away. Instead it left her feeling dirty to her soul, and irreversibly damaged.

Evidently the realisation was mutual, and White pulled away, his face a mask of disdain as he stepped around her to snatch up his clothes.

"This changes nothing between us." The steel-cold detachment was ever-present in his voice, but as his eyes flicked over the bite marks that adorned her naked body, he swallowed hard, knowing by the way his traitorous body responded to the sight of her, that he was lying through his teeth. He dressed quickly, making sure to avoid her eyes until he'd regained his iron-will composure.

"Don't need to tell me twice." Max's hands trembled as she tugged on her jeans and gingerly pulled the lycra top over her raw and aching back. She wouldn't look at him. _Couldn't_ look at him. She'd committed this act to get out of here and that was precisely what it was - an act. She refused to acknowledge any dark part of her that had got off on it. The only true enjoyment she'd get from any of this was seeing the look on his face when he realised _he_ was the one who'd been played.

Shaking his head, White grabbed the transgenic and pulled her to him, unmindful of her injuries. His lips brushed over hers, almost possessively, and he growled, "I'll be back, 452."

Max shivered at the hint in his voice, but she knew his unspoken promises would never amount to anything - if all deals were kept, she wouldn't be here to experience a 'next time'. Still, she met his eyes and leant in, summoning false confidence as she skimmed her lips against his earlobe and whispered, "Bring a friend next time."

Smiling darkly to himself, White locked the cell behind him and sauntered down the deserted corridor, twirling the keys in his fingers. Never before had he let himself loose so completely. Never before had he a partner so capable of consuming every last violent thrust, and wanting more.

He shook his head to clear his mind. _It can't happen again_, the rational part of his brain urged.

But already, a part of his body was looking forward to the next opportunity when it could.


	2. Chapter Two

Author Note: Thanks to those who left reviews here and at the forum. :) Feedback really would be greatly appreciated! There's several fics I'm trying to close the ties on at the moment and as it is, I'm not sure whether it's worth continuing this one. I'm wondering; _are people still reading this or have they given up half way through the first chapter?_

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**CONTROL**

**by Sorrow**

**ll l lll ll l lll**

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"Ames, were you not aware of the surveillance cameras in the cell?"

Matthias' disapproval was obvious, although his tone was beguilingly gentle; like that of a reprimanding father, or the cobra that hypnotises its prey before striking.

The Elder eyed the silent, emotionless Familiar before him in distaste; taking in the torn shirt stained with blood, the bruises on his neck, the long brown strands of 452's hair which clung to his jacket, the musky stench of sex upon his skin. His observation missed nothing.

Then the High Priest shifted his gaze beyond Ames White, to the two TV screens which showed the Familiar - in all his naked glory - riding the transgenic slut like a ten dollar whore, in a filthy holding cell.

"Of course you weren't aware. We didn't tell you."

Smiling coldly as White's blank expression broke for a moment and his jaw tightened in anger, Matthias continued.

"I suppose you're wondering _why_?" Matthias paused, waiting to see if the Familiar would acknowledge him. He didn't. Unfazed, the Elder continued.

"Well, the evidence speaks for itself, doesn't it? The Conclave have long wondered why you've been so _grossly incompetent_ at capturing 452. Now you've confirmed out suspicions."

"What!" The words exploded from Ames White's lips as he turned upon the Elder, his face contorted in rage. "What suspicions are you talking about?"

"That you're a traitor."

White flinched, his eyes flickering to the screens once more, knowing there was no way to argue with the scenes replaying before his very eyes, even as he knew the accusation was untrue. It wasn't his fault…

His fingers curled into fists, a movement which didn't escape the Elder's attention, and White struggled to hold himself in check, knowing his life –or rather, the manner of his death - rested in this man's hands

"Do you deny it Ames? Do you deny what is so obvious on those screens in front of you? Would you like to hear it played back in audio?"

Expecting no answer, Matthias stepped forward and flicked a switch. At once the room filled with the sounds of Familiar and transgenic moaning against each other. His stomach revolted at the sound. A Familiar involved in such an act with an enemy was a betrayal unlike any the Conclave had encountered. In fact, Ames White's betrayal surpassed even that of his father before him.

Scowling darkly, White remained silent. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could _ever_ say, to reverse what he had done - or justify it. But a question glimmered in his mind, and he couldn't help but voice aloud.

"What made you think I'd…" The sentence turned to sawdust in his mouth. The recording has come to its climatic end and had begun to play again.

"Screw 452?" Matthias' cold blue eyes took on a calculated look as he pressed the intercom and spoke a word which caused his captive's eyebrows to raise in alarm. Releasing the button, the Elder turned back to the Familiar, his smile chilling.

"I've long suspected you to have bad genes. Corrupt genes. Look at your father - the traitorous bastard who created this whole transgenic mess. And your brother - a lunatic locked away in an asylum. How could you be a diamond in the rough? Your son was too weak to survive -"

"You don't know that!"

"Neither do you. But you've lain _generations_ of our work aside to try and get him back. You placed your entire race in jeopardy each time you let 452 slip through our grasp! You would see us destroyed before losing your son - just as your father would have, for CJ."

Matthias' voice had risen in anger and he paused to return it to his smooth, snake-like whisper once more. "Like father, like son."

Behind White, the door slid open, and he heard someone enter; their steps cautious and uneven, as if movement was an effort.

An involuntary shiver ran through him as he recognised the heavy mix of scents that fill the room. Sex, blood, fear, sweat, and the lingering ebb of excitement. White closed his eyes as his senses reeled and snapped open again as Matthias gives a short cough.

"What's she doing here?" White's voice was low, dangerous. He didn't need to look behind him to know who stood there. He felt her eyes burning against his back.

Matthias' smile grew wide. "Oh, 452?" He was enjoying this. "She's here for confession."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

White looked between the Elder and the transgenic, not understanding.

"Confess to what?" White's voice was wary as his brain worked to piece the situation together. Confess to sleeping with him? Well that was blatantly obvious already. What else was there for her to confess?

452 refused to meet his eyes and he wondered why it was so important to him that she did. Nothing had changed between them. They were still enemies. But as his body reacted once more to the memory of her touch, he realised that in the last hour, the definition of 'enemy' had become blurred.

Matthias stood quietly to one side, watching the transaction play out. Waiting for the curtain to fall - or perhaps the ceremonial axe.

"I played you." Some hours ago, Max had looked forward to saying these three words to Ames White. Now, as the survival instinct that had got her to this point, began to wear off, a suffocating sense of shame replaced it. It was misplaced, she knew. He deserved this. Even still, as she dragged her eyes to meet White's own, she couldn't help but recoil at the realisation dawning in his dark orbs.

"You _played_ me?" He grunted, stunned and somewhat stupefied at this turn of events. An ill-timed urge to chuckle threatened to overcome him; the mad laughter of someone who knew he'd been well and truly screwed - in more ways than one.

"And what kind of deal did the two of you scrape together?" He looked to Matthias as he asked, his words bitter, and with no hint of the respect he was meant to show an Elder. What difference would it make now?

"My freedom." Max folded her hands across her chest and forced a tight smile. Her stomach felt nauseous.

"For my betrayal?" White nodded as she diverted her eyes, confirming the answer.

"Very well then." He nodded curtly, with no attempt to make excuses or beg forgiveness from the Elder who would now decide his future. Or lack of.

Max recognised White's tightly controlled anger in the way that his eyes narrowed and flashed with dark emotions. The realisation that she could know him so well shocked her, though she figured it came from months of chasing each other and second-guessing the opponent. Hours and hours of enduring his interrogations in her cell.

He may seem a defeated enemy but he was not a vanquished one, and in that instant she wondered who should fear him the most. The high priest, or herself.

Matthias had expected no less from the Familiar; Ames White would sooner die than admit he'd done wrong, even when his errors were laid out so bare before him. Such arrogance was all that has kept him in the Conclave's good favour when he'd screwed up so many times before. But not this time.

"So, time to front up your end of the deal."

The High Priest flinched in distaste as the transgenic directed her words at him. He turned towards her, his expression at once guileless. "And what deal would that be?"

Max's reply caught in her throat, her mouth dry. Beside her, White gave a brief snigger of irony, and she at once understood why.

"Oh come on now. You didn't _truly_ believe rooting out a mole was worth so much to us?" Matthias snorts in contempt as he mutters, "and I thought you freaks were meant to be geniuses."

The Elder snapped his fingers and two goliath-sized Familiars waiting by the door stepped forward. Max sensed one behind her and as he gripped her arm to lead her away, she knew with dread that she was no match for his strength, nor did she have the willpower to try.

Matthias' smile widened. "Take them both to the holding cell. The Conclave assembles to witness their deaths, but they may just get time to share a goodbye kiss."

As the guard dragged her towards the door, she pulled against him, desperate to escape his grasp even as she knew she was too weak for the effort. But where White had merely toyed with her as they fought some hours earlier, this one had no desire to play cat and mouse. She didn't even see the fist as it came crashing down on her, sending her plummeting into a darkness which, for a little while at least, gave her peace.


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: Thanks to the lovely people who have given their encouragement and general input :)

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**CONTROL**

**by Sorrow**

**ll l lll ll l lll**

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Max's senses prickled with warning as she blurred through the twisting maze of Sector 12. High above, Seattle's ever-present rain clouds opened upon the streets, and the sudden onslaught of hail blocked the sound of her pursuer. Nonetheless, she knew he was there, not far behind, his pace almost matching her own. The question was whether she could make it to her bolt hole in time.

Within seconds the pavement was coated in a treacherous layer of ice chips, and despite the need to put as much distance between herself and her follower as possible, she was forced to a steady run. One wrong turn took her to a dead end, but without skipping a beat she leapt to the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder and began to climb. The hail had diminished, but the iron rungs were slick from the wet and she bit her lip in irritation at the weather.

Slipping inside an open window on the fifth floor, Max used her genetically-enhanced senses to take stock of the layout and listen for inhabitants in the adjoining rooms. It was clear. She stepped back to spare a last glance out the window and turned to the door.

The cold muzzle of a gun at her temple stopped her from taking another step.

"What the - ?"

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as Ames White's cold smile greeted her. He stood where she had been only a moment ago - the moment when she had ascertained there was no one else in the room. Did he slip silently through the window behind her? Was he already here? If so, how had he known she'd take this floor? And most of all, how had she failed to up on his presence?

Reading the questions upon her face, White chuckled darkly. "No matter how good you are 452, I'm better."

"How the hell did -"

He cut her off by tapping his finger to the side of his nose, "ask me no questions 452, I'll tell you no lies."

Then he pointed the gun to her chest, fired, and stepped forward to catch the transgenic as she slipped towards the floor.

xxxxxx

"Feel refreshed after your beauty sleep, 452?"

Max groaned and clutched a hand to her stomach as she dragged herself into a sitting position, and into the present. Her entire body throbbed with pain and she carefully pulled her shirt up over her abdomen to reveal an angry purple bruise. A new one for a rapidly growing collection.

"Guards use me as target practice?" The words came out thick. Her throat felt like she'd been eating gravel in her sleep.

"No. I did."

Ames White leant against the wall on the opposite side of the cell. His expression was smug, but by his own dishevelled appearance it was plain to see he hadn't exactly made it back to the cell without slipping over someone's fist himself. But Max was too tired to accuse him of claiming credit for someone else's achievements, so she let it slide.

"I dreamt I was running from you." She mumbled the words half to herself as her hand moved to the spot where the tranquiliser dart hit her chest on the day he captured her. So many more bruises had been accumulated since.

"Evidently, you didn't get far."

The holding cell was silent for a while, but for the sound of their breathing.

Restless, Max shifted her position on the cold floor. Pieces of broken concrete dug awkwardly into her, adding further discomfort to her already battered body. An attempt to lean gingerly against the wall resulted in a sharp inhalation of breath. Amid all the other niggling pains, she'd almost forgotten that half the reason for her bruising was due to Ames White's hands…

Max winced, self-loathing flooding her mind at the thought of what she'd done. With him. Her eyes flickered to White and she was thankful that he wasn't looking in her direction. Quickly she dropped her gaze, unable to look at him when the memory of their hands upon each other was steadily burning her conscience.

When Matthias offered her freedom in return for framing White as a traitor to the Conclave, she wasted no time in telling him where to go. No deal would be sweet enough to make her stoop to such degradation. Besides, even if White did fall for it, she wasn't fool enough to believe the Conclave would let her go. Not for any price

But, as it turned out, she did have a price.

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_Four days earlier..._

The ring of footsteps in the corridor and scrape of a key turning in the door shook Max from her apathy and she rose from the damp mattress in the corner of the cell, not wanting to face her enemies on any medium except her own feet.

"Still alive 452?" White sniffed the air as he sauntered in, an exaggerated expression of disgust on his face. "And filthier than ever."

"Here to harass me White? Or is there a finer point to your visit?" Matthias's offer of freedom in return for framing the son of Sandeman has made it difficult for Max to look at her antagonist without recoiling. But she hardened her glare and tilted her chin, beckoning him to give his best shot at breaking her down. Again.

White's naturally venomous expression turned to one of gloating and he all but swaggered as he stepped further into the room and locked the door behind him.

"Turns out your fellow freaks thought they could break you outta here."

He paused, gloating, waiting for her to bite. Shrugging at her silence, he continued.

"Don't worry, we caught 'em. Have them in a cell almost as snug as this one."

Outwardly, Max revealed nothing. Inwardly, she wondered if he was bluffing, and tried to ignore the anxiety churning nauseously within the pit of her gut.

"Just in case you think I'm bluffing…" He pulled from an inner pocket of his suit, a small brown envelope and handed it to her. Unwilling to take it from him, but driven to know what it contained, she took it from his hands and pulled out the contents.

Half a dozen photos.

Three captives prior to interrogation by the familiars.

Three captives laid out on a concrete floor afterwards.

"Are they..."

"Unconscious." He said it with a smile. "For now. Seems I have a bargaining tool for getting my son back. Any time you feel like talking, just let me know."

He left her standing there, in the middle of a cold damp cell with a handful of photographs. It was several minutes before she could move her gaze from the horror of the sixth image, and when she did, her eyes were brimming with tears.

Turns out, everyone has a price.

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"Thought you were smarter than that, 452."

Her mind dragged back to the present once again, Max shook her head and reluctantly looked to the man pacing back and forth in their cell like a tiger rapidly growing tired of its cage.

"Huh?"

"Making a deal with Matthias. I thought you were smarter than that." He crouched before her, his face a twisted mask of anger only inches from her own. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done? You are the _bane_ of our existence! You really think he'd just _let you go_?"

Those final three words twisted from his lips with an ugly sneer, as the full depth of her stupidity cracked at him from all sides. At this point, he was unsure whether to laugh aloud or wrap his fingers around her throat and choke the life out of her. Either way he needed to release a bit of stress, and out of the two present options, mindless violence was always a more enjoyable choice.

"I know. And I'll be strikin' him off my Christmas card list." Max's retort was a force of habit, but lacklustre in delivery. Internally her mind was racing to try and form a new plan. A new bargaining tool. A new way to get her friends out of this godsforsaken mess. She didn't want to tell White the deal was made not for herself, but for those he had captured. There was still a chance the Elder would hold his end of the bargain, and she didn't want Ames White siding with Matthias for a counter-deal.

His questions and accusations came at her hard and fast then. She closed her eyes and let them slide. Or tried to. So what if she sold him down the river? She owed him nothing. Certainly not loyalty by any means. He of all people would know that. So why didn't he direct his questions at the one who set this whole thing up? The one who was meant to be on his side? Why did the condemnation in his eyes make her feel as if she was the one to have betrayed him? They were enemies. He should've seen it coming.

"Or could it be a part of you wanted me?"

That last question cracked right through the mental barrier she'd stacked up around herself. Her eyes snap open, startled. His grey orbs were two flecks of steel in a face as cold and inhuman as the snake he and his whacko's worshipped.

Wordlessly, he evaluated her expression as it passed through the variety of responses which made it to her mind but not quite to her lips. Then in a sudden twist of humour as malicious as the last, Ames White brought a hand to Max's face and gently trailed his forefinger along her jaw, knocking the transgenic even further off-guard. She flinched at the touch but met his eyes with a defiant glare, while the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end with warning at the beguilingly soft purr which had threaded its way into his voice.

"Is that it 452? Sick of playing the whore to Eyes Only and the transgenic nation? Felt like expanding your base of comparison?"

The press of his fingers upon her became less beguilingly and more insistent, as he brought his hand down to cup a breast, squeezing roughly through the material of her lycra top, until it hurt. Until she closed her eyes to avoid the cruel smile that played upon his face. The one he wore when they circled each other just a few hours before. She could fight him, whittle away more of her energy on throwing punches at him, but that was what he was banking on and she refused to play into his hands. Besides, she was too tired to fight, too apathetic to care.

"Look at me!"

The command ricocheted off the walls. She met his eyes slowly, defiantly, before her gaze swept briefly over him; taking in the blood clotted in his hair and crusted to a deep gash on his cheekbone, then noting the lower lip swollen from the bites she'd inflicted. Even as she repelled from him, a small subversive part of her was responding to the dark lust she recognised in his eyes.

His jaw muscles clenched in effort to hold back the rage that simmered eternally beneath his surface, but she knew he was experiencing the same tug of war within himself as she. He desired her as much as he despised her. Hate and lust. That narrow line. One driving the other onwards, building to a violent climax that could only bring destruction to them both.

But all at once he released her and backed away, putting a safe space between them at last, his harried expression revealing the confusion and disgust he felt at the way his own body was reacting to her presence. Again.

For several hours they sat in silence. For several hours they were safe from each other.

For now.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: This update has been a couple of years (or so...) in coming, but hey I'm keen to get this marked as 'complete' at last so except another update shortly. There will be one final chapter after this one. I think. Oh, maybe two. *sigh*_

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**CONTROL**

**by Sorrow**

**ll l lll ll l lll**

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"Are my friends alive?" Max whispered the question, breaking a long stretch of silence that had long ago surpassed the awkward stage.

For a long minute White remained silent, and she wondered if he'd failed to catch her words. Then she saw a movement from his corner of the room as he brought himself out of his reverie.

"Is my son?" The question fractured the air like a punch, and Max winced as she realised she should have seen that one coming. With a roll of her eyes she gritted her teeth. She was so sick of playing the Ray Game, and what did it matter now anyway to give a father some piece of mind?

"Yes."

From his dark corner, White took a deep breath and held it in, as if to savour the answer he'd sought for so long.

"Thank you."

The measure of relief imbedded in his voice surprised Max, and she turned sharply away. She waited for an answer to her own question, but the room descended into silence once more.

Should've figured on that one.

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"Wise ass son of a bitch." Mole spat towards a corner of the cell as the door slammed shut and footsteps faded from hearing.

"You think he means it?"

"What, that they'll skewer me and serve me as barbequed lizard at their next banquet? Nah, just a bluff."

"No, I mean about – "

"Yeah I know where you're at." But Mole didn't have an answer to Joshua's question. Instead he looked to where their companion lay, still unconscious. Not good. When they were captured, he took the worst of the beating. Maybe it was a personal grudge White held against him in particular. Who knew? All Mole knew was that if they couldn't get their third musketeer to wake the hell up and continue the plan, this would be the worst rescue mission in history.

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When White sauntered into her cell three days earlier, to gloat about the capture of the transgenics who'd tried to stage her rescue, Max had turned to Matthias with a last ditch bargain using the only tool she had left. A deal was made, and the Elder gave his word to let one of the captives go as a sign of good will; promising the release of the others, once her end of the bargain had been completed.

In hindsight, she wondered if the Elder had kept his side of the bargain at all. She'd learnt a lot about the breeding cult in the weeks since she'd become their captive. In particular; with all their pomp and emphasis on traditions and values, honour was not one of their strong points. Nor was loyalty, so it turned out.

Max daydreamt of where she would be now if she hadn't stepped off the ladder and into that room. She wondered if White was wrestling with his own regrets. Or plans for revenge.

He could kill her now, before the Conclave lay her on their sacrificial alter – or whatever they called it. There was nothing left for him to lose if he decided to outwit his cult buddies and extract his own revenge.

Well, there was one thing.

One card she could still deal. Not that it would do her any good now anyway.

"I can take you to your son." The words croaked from parched lips and she cursed herself for the lack of conviction in her voice.

Across the room, White sniggered in the darkness. "And how will you do that, 452? If you haven't noticed, you're a prisoner." Softer, deadlier now, he added, "As am I. No thanks to you. So your little carrot isn't going to bait me. Whether I like it or not."

"Can't blame a girl for trying." Max shrugged, and a moment later a fast footfall landed beside her, as hands gripped her shoulders and hauled her to her feet.

White stood before her, pushing her roughly against the brick wall as he leant in inches from her face, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't think to trivialise how important my son is to me, transgenic scum."

His breath was warm and soft against her skin and she shivered despite herself. Not out of cold, certainly not out of fear, but because a part of her had anticipated this reaction from him – the same strange part of her that craved it. Had weeks of isolation driven her to this? To bait her enemy into touching her just to remind herself she was still alive? To kick enough adrenalin into her blood to keep her heart pounding?

"Is this you trying to be romantic? Cause I gotta tell ya it's not working." She whispered the words against the Familiar's throat, as she pretended the darkness could cloak them in some kind of anonymity; pretend they were somewhere else. Someone else.

White flashed an arrogant smile as he released his grip upon her arms and slipped his hands to her hips, roughly tugging her to him. "Think you're lying, 452."

He was unsure of what game the transgenic was playing this time, but he refused to fall victim to it. Catching her lips roughly with his own and smirking to himself as her arms slid around his neck in response, he decided this time _he_ was going to be in control.

* * *

Until he faced the Phalanx during the Jam Pony stand off, Joshua had never fully exerted his strength. And since that evening when he held White's prone body across his knee and threatened to snap him like a twig, he had kept his strength in reserve. It took no small measure of his inner strength to keep himself in check when they were captured. Even more strength to hold back as Alec was beaten to a bloodied pulp.

He knew the plan, but a part of him couldn't understand it. Why go through the rigmarole of allowing themselves to be captured? He could care less if they managed to ferret out of the heart of the Familiar race and destroy its backbone. The only thing in the world that was important to him, was locating Max, and killing White. In that order, if possible.

The still form beside him uttered a low groan, and Mole was at his side, prodding him, "Take your sweet time Princess. No worries, we've got all day." Mole's voice was gruff, but tight with concern. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"I'm-okay-I'm-okay." Slurred the recipient of his sarcasm, and a hand raised to push away Joshua who was trying to 'help' his friend assume a more vertical position.

"How long?" The X5 asked as he sat, wincing, and touching a hand cautiously to his head.

"Three, four days?"

Joshua added, "Nearly started to worry about you, Medium Fella."

Alec swore and, still holding his head, clambered to his feet with all the cat-like grace of an injured bear. "Had it under control." He shrugged with all the nonchalance he could fake. "Four days huh? Long enough for them to think I'm out of the game."

"Good to go then?" Mole clapped a hand across Alec's back. Camaraderie. The X5 staggered forward and shot his comrade a half scowl. "Been wondering when you were gonna stop making chit chat and call the big guys back in."

Mole grinned cheerfully, and banged a fist against the steel door. "Hey! Assholes! Need someone in here!" When he turned back, Alec was sprawled the ground, seemingly unconscious once more.

* * *

White had resumed his pacing as Max sat to one side like a coiled cobra ready to strike. Her eyes followed the Familiar - back and forth, back and forth - loathing and desire still waging a war within her as guilt rose like bile in her throat.

The first time… There was a purpose in that. Twisted and futile as it was.

But now?

How could she ever excuse her actions now? Ames White. A cold-blooded Familiar. Her enemy. He who had committed or arranged the deaths of countless transgenics. Murdered his wife. The mother of his child. And yet here she sat with his scent upon her skin, and the soft warmth of his lips staining her memory.

Unable to bear the sight of White any longer, Max sank her head onto her knees, clutching her arms tight across her body and railed against herself. Revulsion churned within her stomach. There was no motive to what had just taken place. Least, not on her part. Not this time. The fact of the matter was that she had laid aside everything she had come to believe in, and acted on pure impulse. Need. Loneliness. Desperation. Lust.

Piss poor excuses at best.

**lll ll l lll**

Across the room, White broke out of his pacing and leant against the wall, his expression intent as he watched 452 ever so quietly break down. A brief cold smile flickered across his face as she lowered her head to her knees. For all outward appearances, she could simply be resting. Bored. Plotting. But he knew she was wrestling with shame and lust and an all-consuming horror of her own actions.

He knew this, because he was feeling it too – the abhorrence, and the craving for more - much as he was loathe to admit it, even to himself.

452. The perpetual thorn in his side. Tarnished. Less than human. An abhorrence manufactured in a lab by his own traitor father; created for a destiny interlinked with his own. A destiny he swore would never be fulfilled. But here it was, unfolding before him. His father would be so proud. Too bad she'd never live long enough.

This game he played was just a way of spitting in the figurative face of his father. As far as he was concerned, his actions still had a purpose. What better way to pass the time while he waited for this life sentence to end? What was the sense in denying he felt physical attraction for 452 – had done from the moment he laid eyes on her in the cage. After all, it was in his nature to manipulate any situation to his advantage, and what did he care what the Conclave thought of it all now? If they had cameras in _this_ room, he hoped they were enjoying the show.

* * *

After an age of door pounding and an arsenal of expletives, the cell door was unlocked and thrust open, and two heavy-set Familiar guards entered. Mole waved an arm towards Alec, lying prone on the floor, and did his best to look helpless. No easy feat.

As one guard approached the unconscious figure, the X5 flipped himself up, slamming his heels into the Familiar before bouncing to his feet and following through with a flying kick to the head. Alec's kick ricocheted the guard backwards, into the waiting arms of Mole who casually broke his neck as he caught his fall.

Before the second Familiar could respond, Joshua grabbed him from behind and lifted him into the air. Finally, able to use his full strength, the transhuman smashed the Familiar down in a move that instantly broke his back. It was not Ames White lying broken at his feet, but it was one step closer.

Mole was already stripping the first Familiar out of his clothes, and shaking his head as he wondered how the hell Alec was going to fit his gear. These snake guys were bred like giants. Alec threw the Familiar's clothing over his own, figuring the extra bulk would help hold up the pants. Nothing a shoestring belt couldn't fix.

"Ready to roll?" Joshua clapped a large hand on Alec's shoulder. Wincing, Alec nodded and gave a brief smile. "I'll bring back pizza" He said with a wink, before slipping out the door.

Once in the corridor, Alec let his bravado slide for a moment as he pondered the predicament they were in. Taking out a couple of guards, donning their gear and mingling amid them in order to discover Max's whereabouts, bust her out, return for the other two then make their escape…

Well it seemed like such a foolproof plan when they were on the other side of this stronghold.

As he hitched up the oversized pants and starts in a direction that had a 50/50 chance of being the right one, Alec realised the word he'd been looking for was foolhardy. Fool_hardy._

* * *

For the last hour, White had been using the cell as an exercise yard. An extremely small exercise yard. Stripped of his shirt and sleek with sweat, he performed stretches and sit ups, then leapt to an overhanging pipe to complete a few dozen pull ups before the pipe began to groan under his weight and he dropped lightly to the dirt floor, to fall straight back into sit ups once again.

Max was surprised he hadn't broken out a yoga mat and performed the one-armed peacock. She wasn't sure whether he was trying to show her up, or was simply showing off. Either way, it was working. There was a sliver of resentment that the guy actually had energy to burn. Obviously he hadn't been a captive of his own people long enough to truly appreciate the memory of a full meal.

Then there was the other part of her, the traitorous part that had made itself at home in a queasy corner of her stomach (right next door to the growling hunger pangs). She couldn't help but appreciate that this wacky breeding cult's thousand year quest for perfection had quite possibly reached critical mass, and while it felt alien and somewhat sickly to in any way admire White's form, she couldn't help but invent a strange kind of logic that it didn't matter now what she thought or did in regards to Ames White. That line was crossed long ago. Roughly 9 hours in fact, if her estimate was anything to go by.

She tried to close her eyes against him, to deny herself, but in her mind's eye she could still see the angry red welts that adorned his back from when she dug them in to draw him closer. And how his collarbone bore bite mark, from when the friction of his body moving against her caused her to clamp her teeth into his neck to stifle a cry. As the memory caused her skin to flush, she felt her stomach roll again, and she clutched her arms across herself.

Aware of how uncannily silent the cell had become, the transgenic snapped her eyes open, and her gaze met the direct stare of the Familiar, who had ceased his workout to watch her. He frowned slightly as he studied her, as if trying to figure out a complex puzzle.

"Something the matter, 452?"

His tone was neutral, which caught her by surprise. She'd been expecting smug. Scowling at his false concern, she replied, "Gee, where do I begin? Being stuck in this dump with you for one."

A retort twitched the Familiar's lips into a sardonic smile and he opened his mouth to deliver it.

"Oh just shut up!" Max snapped, eyes blazing with a fire he'd learnt how to stoke oh-too-well.

White closed his mouth and turned away to resume his sit ups, but she could see a self-satisfied smirk twitching his lips, and she knew that even without trying, he'd won this round again.


End file.
